


Down In A Hole

by Lobotomite



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Gen, Past childhood sexual abuse, a 'what if Aaron's csa came out earlier' au, goes AU after John locks Aaron in the stable, set back in 2009, there are no graphic descriptions but there are references to memories of the events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 03:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16339265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lobotomite/pseuds/Lobotomite
Summary: Aaron thought he'd gotten away, that he'd left his father and the things he'd done well behind him. Turns out it's not so easy to outrun your demons.





	1. Chapter 1

"Oi! Oi!" He thumps his fists against the solid wood in front of him. "You can't fucking do this, let me out! Let me out!" His voice cracks embarrassingly, humiliatingly, and he takes it out on the door barring his exit, hammering his shaking hands against it until they're aching from the impact and rubbed raw by the splintering wood. The door shudders with every heavy thud, but it starts firm and unyielding against his outbursts. He hadn't expected any different, but the solid proof he's not going to be able to force his way out makes the panic already tightening his chest send his head spinning, and he bangs his hands against the god forsaken wood one more time, using the impact to shove himself away and set about pacing the tiny space he's found himself in.

But he hasn't, has he? He hasn't just found himself here; hasn't happened to wander into a stable and have the door swing closed behind him. No, he's been manhandled in, forced in, broad, rough hands burning a shiny new brand under his skin and awakening all the old ones at the same time. He's fallen into his old, inevitable ways, pushed things too far, and gotten himself on the wrong end of a bruising grip and righteous anger. He doesn't dare pull his sleeves back and look at the damage; he's half sure he'll see long healed bruises risen to the surface in an angry red, and half sure he'll see nothing, unblemished skin proving his duplicity and overreaction.

He wants to hit something, to break something; rip his skin open tearing through the walls of the stable, crack his own skull apart, beat John's fucking face into an unrecognisable pulp. But there's nothing he can get his hands on other than himself and the ache in his head where John's fist made contact has the bile in his stomach burning, so instead he holds his shaking hands in the air, flexing the tight fists his fingers have curled into, before dropping them uselessly back down to his sides.

He intends to at least swing them down forcefully, letting some of his terrified, furious energy out. That doesn't happen, though. They just drop and hang limp and useless at his side. That initial burst of adrenaline is still making his limbs tremble and his heart jackhammer away at his ribs, but he's already starting to step outside himself, aware of his physical reactions as if he was feeling them through layers of bubble wrap rather than directly. And god, does he hate it. He hates the way it makes him mute and ineffectual, the way his brain decides to just curl up and leave the rest of him to it's fate, the way his reactions are dulled and slowed to the point of being useless.

He can't fight back like this. He can't stop it happening like this. It's what he's done every time, smothering that first burst of fear in thick cotton apathy, and it's never helped. Stepping outside himself has never loosened his father's grip, never made it hurt any less, never stopped the blood and grime and mess from sinking through his skin and staining his soul black.

Fighting back, though. Fighting back had. Yeah, okay, he'd ended up clocking the wrong person, when it came down to it, hadn't gotten the chance to drive his fist into his father's face like he'd wanted to, but he got away. He'd hit her, and he'd left, and he hadn't ended up dragged back by his ankle to face his inevitable punishment - he hadn't ended up back at all. So maybe he deserves it, maybe there's something wrong with him, something bone deep and twisted that drags him over the line again and again and again. He'd never argue with you, if you said that he hasn't got that goodness in him that Paddy has, that Adam has, that most people have; he knows even as he's doing it that what he's doing is messed up and over the line, but it never stops him. And he'll take the consequences, grit his teeth against the way everyone looks down their nose at him, resign himself to shuffling around on the outskirts, accept that he's never going to have that close relationship he sees everyone around him enjoying.

But he won't sit there and take the violence anymore. It's selfish, maybe, but he can't - he won't - let anybody lay their hands on him again without doing his best to tear them off. He's not a child now, trying to fight back with child fists and child teeth and child strength - so, deserve it or not, if it's going to happen again it's going to happen with as much of a fight as Aaron is capable of.

He just doesn't know how to stop it, how to force himself back into the driver's seat. He knows what he wants to do - he wants to burst through the door the second it's unbarred with his fists swinging and get as far away from this shitty farm as possible. He's only vaguely aware of where his limbs are, though, his self perception turning to fuzz somewhere around his shoulders, so he's not entirely sure he's going to be able to throw a decent punch or get his legs cooperating enough to actually run. If he's going to be entirely truthful, it's enough of a struggle to not be sick all over the dirt floor. He needs to settle back into himself, get his hands on the controls again, but it's difficult - he knows he needs to, but he doesn't really want to, either. His breathing is coming in gasps, he can still feel the ice cold panic dripping down his spine, and his heart is still rattling around in his chest. He doesn't want to feel all of that in full definition.

He manages to, though. Kind of. He's still not all there, but he forces his breathing steady (okay, steadier - he's not going to be breathing normally any time soon), he bounces anxiously on his feet, he makes himself focus on the sounds around him, listening out for the sounds of someone coming his way. The awareness is a double edged sword, of course. He has the focus to hear someone coming, and the quiet sounds of the farm around him are undeniably soothing, reminiscent of nonjudgmental animals more than of John's harsh temper and everyone's disdainful sneering. But every gust of wind that makes the door shudder has him tense, every long off voice carried by the wind has him feeling sick.

It's almost a relief, when he hears the unmistakable sound of people heading his way, when he can easily pick out John Barton's voice in the air. He uses the fear that voice kickstarts to keep his momentum going, throwing himself back up against the door, hammering at it with his fists.

"Let me out!" he screams, letting the sharp pain of his fists' impact with wood keep him grounded. "Let! Me! Out!"

The door jiggles a bit without his input, and he can hear the low murmur of voices on the other side of the door - he goes out of his way not to listen, focussing on himself, on watching out for any sign of the door opening.

And then it starts to swing outwards, and he throws himself forward, jolting his shoulder against the opening door and staggering to a halt in front of a startled John. He's vaguely aware of their audience - Moira; fucking Victoria and Hannah, out for a bit of fun at his expense he assumes - but the majority of his awareness is taken up with trying to steady his reaction to John.

He'd had vague ideas of retribution, of returning John's assault tenfold, of beating him bloody and walking out confident he'd never bother him again. Turns out it's different, in reality, with terror and fury pumping through your veins and making you shake and tremble - it's different, stumbling into the sunlight and facing up against a fit adult man, knowing your own physical prowess would struggle to make a dent.

So instead, he runs.

He snarls wordlessly and shoves past John, ignoring the girls' gasps, and sets off running, bolting past a surprised Paddy and Adam and tearing down the gravel driveway. There's yelling from behind him, but he doesn't turn back, doesn't bother trying to figure out who's yelling and what they want. He doesn't care what they want.

_He just wants to go home_. But he hasn't been able to do that since his mum walked out of his life and took home with her.

So he heads for Paddy's instead.


	2. Chapter 2

He's not exactly graceful, tearing across the loose gravel - he skids more than once, heading out of the property - but all he's thinking about is getting away. 

Thinking is an overly generous description of what's going on in his brain at that moment, really. He's ferociously fighting against any kind of real thought at all - any wisp of one immediately veers off into scary, unsafe territory, tearing at old wounds and trying to make him replay the last handful of minutes over and over again. He snaps off every train of thought that attempts to form, knowing from experience that it's like fighting a hydra but knowing just as surely that letting it all go just leads to misery. 

So really, he's not thinking about anything other than not thinking at all and trying to stomp out the sick hollow feeling in his chest, but his instincts are doing the work for him, and they're screaming at him to run.

He's not unfit, and he'd smack you for trying to imply he was, but his breathing was a ragged mess even before he got out of the stable, so it's not long before he's having to take deep gasps of air with every thump of his feet against the dirt. In an odd way, it helps: it's hard to spiral into quick, sharp, panicked panting when you need to suck steady gusts of air into your lungs or topple over. The forcibly steadied breathing helps put a stopper on his ballooning panic, and between that and the building burn in his legs giving him something to focus his senses on he settles into a welcome state of half-detached anxiety instead of the overwhelming panic he'd been strangled by in the stable.

He's glad he's alone, with no-one around to see how shaken apart he is, no-one to see the tears he belatedly realises have been dripping down his face (and god, won't it be fun facing Vic and Adam again, knowing they saw him run off crying instead of finishing the fight like he should have). But he can't help, though he'd never admit to it, the way his heart sinks in shamed disappointment the longer time stretches on with no sign of Paddy at all. 

He shouldn't _be_ upset, because he doesn't want to see him, he really doesn't. The thought of having to stand there and talk to him, or more likely, to stand there and be talked at - be lectured, be told off for bringing it upon himself, have to see that stupid soft look of confused disappointment on his face - it's all the last thing he wants to do. 

And yet. 

And yet, he keeps finding himself straining for the sound of a car rumbling up behind him. And yet, he keeps having to force himself not to keep trying to glance up along the road behind him. And yet, when he's halfway down the hill and he finally hears a car making its way towards him, he doesn't dare turn and check because he's so scared it's going to be someone else.

"Aaron!" The car slows to a crawl, matching his pace as it rumbles along down the road. "Aaron, mate, come on, get in. I'll take you home and we- we can, uh, we can talk about what happened, okay?"

" _Fuck off,_ " Aaron barks through a raw throat, glowering ahead and refusing to look around as he tries to push himself harder, to move faster. He's not sure if he's running away from Paddy or running away from the unwanted and unwelcome relief making his legs weak.

"Aaron, please," Paddy says, the sickening sympathy in his voice sending Aaron's heart pounding even faster and making his eyes burn with fresh tears. 

He was meant to be angry. Everyone else was, or would be - he can already hear his mother's high pitched squawking and continued despairing over having such a fuck up for a son. There was anger from people like his mum, or laughing disdain from his peers. That's all there ever was. Overt sympathy is something Aaron's always wanted from someone - anyone - but now that he's actually facing it, it just burns in a different way. 

At least when other people were angry at him and not giving him a chance, the wounded, self-righteous anger ate through all his other feelings until it was the only fuel he needed. Paddy's irritating, infuriating sympathy just clears away room for the guilt and pain to spread and seeks to muzzle the retaliation Aaron is so ready to throw back at the world. So he bites his tongue and refuses to even look over at Paddy rolling along beside him.

"I- I'm not going to just let you run off by yourself in, in that state," Paddy announces, voice wavering and stuttering in that way it does when he's trying his best to put his foot down. His attempts to stick to his guns when it comes to disciplining Aaron have always been laughable at best, but he has to admit, the bastard _is_ stubborn enough to slowly follow him all the way home, yapping at him all the while.

_Might as well get it over with quicker_ , he thinks to himself sourly, skidding to a stop so sudden Paddy lets out a startled yelp and slams the car to a juddering halt.

"Fine," he growls, stalking over to the passenger side and wrenching the door open, throwing himself into the seat and pointedly staring out his own window without sparing Paddy a glance. The car starts moving again, jostling over the gravel while Paddy pretends not to notice Aaron swiping his sleeve across his face. "Take me home, then, but you're not going to get on mum's good side doing it. She'd probably prefer you drag me back to that stupid barn and lock me in forever."

"It's- that's- that's not what I'm doing, Aaron," Paddy protests, flusteredly glancing between Aaron and the road and shoving his glasses up his nose at the same time. "I- it's not about your mum. I'm taking you home because you're upset and I don't want you to be on your own, that's all. Is that so hard to believe?" 

That breaks his steadfast refusal to look over, drawing him into a disdainful sneer across the car before he has time to think about it.  _What a stupid question_. Nobody is going to want to spend time with him without an ulterior motive, _especially_  when he's in a fouler mood than normal and they have a ready-made excuse to leave him be. Paddy might be a soft touch who's ridiculously easy to take advantage of, but even he's not _that_  altruistic. So he lets his stony silence speak loud and clear and makes a point of twisting back around to face his window.

Paddy demonstrates admirable restraint, letting the silence sit between them for a good minute with only a few nervous sighs and glances, but true to form, he can't just let Aaron be.

"It must have been frightening," he offers cautiously. "Wh-when you couldn't put the fire out, I mean. A-and then John, he didn't help, did he, I mean - don't get me wrong, you shouldn't have been playing with fire in a straw-filled barn, that was - Aaron, that was really stupid, but - but, I know you know that. I know you didn't mean any harm. He should- he really should know better, than to try and lock you up like that." 

Aaron clenches his fist so tight he feels like his knuckles are going to pop out of their sockets, jaw clenching, Paddy's undeserved sympathy burning like bile at the back of his throat. He'd always thought he wanted this, someone who didn't reflexively take anyone's side other than his, but now that it's there all he wants is for Paddy to stop pretending like he cares. 

"I wasn't scared," he snaps, glaring viciously at a tree in a nearby paddock. "John's an idiot. I just wish he'd been in the barn when I finally got it lit up like I wanted to." 

"I know you don't mean that, Aaron. Even John said you were trying to put it out when he got there."

"Believe what you want," he mutters. "Pretty brave of Saint John to say he hit me for no reason, though. Bet the police would have something to say about that." That earns him a panicked look, sending a well overdue jolt of satisfaction through him. 

"There's no need for that, Aaron," Paddy protests quickly. "He shouldn't have done what he did, but there's no need to get the police involved, is there? Moira's setting him straight right now, we don't need to escalate this any further. You messed up, and he messed up, and w-we can all just move on, can't we?"

"What, so I deserved it?" Aaron asks, wounded and defensive even as the voice in the back of his head whispers _yes_. 

"That's not what I'm saying, Aaron. I'm just saying that we can all handle this ourselves. A-and you _were_  setting fire to their barn, Aaron, I- It doesn't mean what John did was right, but the police will probably be interested in that, too, won't they? The Bartons don't need the trouble, and, Aaron, you don't either. You're not exactly squeaky clean, are you?"

Aaron just grunts, biting down on his tongue and leaning his head on the window, vibrations rattling his skull. The burst of adrenaline that resulted from the idea of hauling John down a peg or two is already leeching back out into numbness - he doesn't believe for one second Paddy actually cares about what would happen to him if he went to the police, but he's probably right. Wouldn't be the first time he was punished worse than the person who fucked him over, and the police aren't exactly fond of him. In a he-said-he-said situation between a jumped up little delinquent like Aaron and an upstanding adult, Aaron has always known he'd come out worst off.  

He can feel Paddy's nervous gaze flicking between him and the road the rest of the ride back to his, but he stays quiet, and Aaron does too.

The car slows to a stop, and he leaps out almost before it's stopped moving, slamming the door closed behind him with a force that almost startles him and sets that familiar feeling of vicious satisfaction thrumming in his chest. He lets himself enjoy the way it makes Paddy flinch, ignoring the guilt immediately bubbling to the surface. 

He bolts for the house before Paddy even has time to get out of the car, shouldering the door open and storming through the living room. 

"Paddy?" His mum calls out from somewhere in the house.

"Clyde!" he calls out, clicking his tongue and patting his thigh. "Clyde, c'm'ere, boy! C'm'on!" 

His mum peers through the door. He doesn't spare her a glance, busy ruffling his dog's fur and getting his hand on the collar, but he can almost feel the air temperature drop when his mum realises it's him rather than Paddy.

" _Aaron,"_ she says this time, voice skipping easily from inquisitive to suspicious. "What's going on?" 

"N-nothing, Chas," Paddy answers for him, bustling into the house. "We just, uh, we just had a little spot of bother up at the Bartons', is all, but it's all sorted. Isn't it, Aaron?"

"Whatever you say," Aaron agrees, coating his words in as much sarcasm as possible. "He smacked me 'round the 'ead and locked me in a barn, but we don't want him in any bother, aye." 

"He _what?_ " Chas squawks. "Why would he do that!?" 

"Well, he- he, uh, he - well- there was-"

"He got in a strop because he thought I was trying to burn his stupid barn down," Aaron snaps, pulling Clyde past them both and snatching the lead off the wall. 

" _You tried to WHAT!?_ " she howls, drowning out Paddy's stammering attempts at explanation. He can't see the righteous fury plastered across her face physically, given how he's refusing to look at her, but he can see it clear as day in his mind anyway. 

"I was _putting it out!_ " He screams back, surprising himself as his anger punches back through the forced detachment he's tried to cloak himself in, spinning around and snarling at her. " _He smacked me about and locked me up, why don't you care about that, eh!?"_ He sucks in a furious breath through his bared teeth, fighting back angry tears. "It never matters what anyone does to me, does it, you're always going to think I deserved it."

"Aaron, I swear to god, if you tried to _burn that man's barn down_ -"

"Aaron..." 

His mum is building up to another melodramatic lecture, while Paddy hovers behind her, nervously wringing his hands and looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here. His one half-hearted attempt at 'being reasonable' with Aaron has been given up entirely in the face of Chas's rage, and Aaron knows better than to expect any kind of real backup from him. He only even gives Aaron the time of day because he's so desperate to keep Chas in his bed, he's certainly not going to purposefully go against her for him. His stomach is still churning, he's still trying to fight unwanted memories of broad hands and bruising grips, and as much as he wants to keep fighting until somebody listens to him, he just can't stand here listening to this any longer. 

He wants to leave with a sharp, scathing remark, but all he feels is _anger_ , locking his jaw and choking him, and if he opened his mouth the only thing he'd manage would be incomprehensible screaming. So he wordlessly spins back around and marches out the door, Clyde trotting along beside him as he ignores his mum's demands to come back and listen to her berate him. 

For a second he lets himself consider ignoring Paddy and heading right down to the cop shop - let's see John try and throw his weight around against policemen with a prison cell looming over him. A prison cell that _Aaron_  has the keys to. He can already picture the pained, humiliated look on his face as he's begging Aaron to let him off the charges - and oh, he'll beg. Aaron won't call the law off for anything less. 

If he won't, well. Knowing John is sitting miserably in a jail cell, and that Aaron put him there, would be almost as satisfying. 

He can't manage to convince himself that the police would be on his side, though, now that Paddy has reminded him who they would be more likely to believe, and the possibility of coming forward with the truth of his victimisation at the hands of someone else and having to watch them get away scot-free - or, worse, getting himself in trouble instead - is too high for him to risk it.

He can't do anything to John. Not right now, at least, not without landing himself in even worse trouble. He can't spend another second in that house. Can't bear to spend any more time being still, even, high pitched energy bubbling away under the surface of his skin. He's never been able to outrun the anxiety twisting his guts into knots and worrying at his mind, but it's better than standing here and letting it all compound, so he grips Clyde's leash tight and sets off at a run with no destination in mind other than away from here. 


	3. Chapter 3

He's not sure how long he stays out for, running alongside Clyde. He doesn't actually get very far away; he ends up in the woods by the cricket pavilion, leading Clyde around in circles instead of heading in any one direction. It's not like he has anywhere to go, after all; he's got nowhere to run _to_ , might as well just chase his tail through a forest. And it helps, a little bit; not completely, nothing ever does, but being able to get out some of his anxious energy and anger has cleared out the most suffocating of his unwanted thoughts. 

However long it's been, he's got sweat dripping down his face and sticking his shirt to his skin, and he probably needs to start heading home if he's actually going to make it back. Part of him is tempted to not go back at all; he could break into the building at the cricket pavilion and settle himself in there, like he'd tried to do the first night he'd been back with his mum and the rest of the Dingles. _Maybe mum'd start to care if I didn't turn up tonight_ , the primary schooler in his head mutters petulantly, but one look at Clyde panting and staring up at him with that big doggy grin is enough to force his hand. He can deal with a night in the cold, but Clyde doesn't deserve to suffer for Aaron's mistakes. 

"C'mon, boy," he says once he's got his breath back. "Let's get you home." 

Their pace back to Paddy's is much more sedate than their leaving had been, and he slows down even more as he starts coming up to the door, even as Clyde surges forward with a burst of energy at having home so close. He comes to a complete halt once he reaches the door, taking a second to ruffle the fur on Clyde's head as he sits patiently next to him. Snapping and stalking off felt like the only option at the time, with the anger threatening to burn him up from the inside out, but now that he's faced with walking back in embarrassment and nervousness have engulfed and doused his previous fury. 

He doesn't bother knocking, opting instead to just walk in like he doesn't care about what reaction he's going to get. Which he doesn't. Unless they're both there waiting desperately for him to get home so they can apologise for being prats and not caring, then he doesn't want to hear it. 

Paddy is the one to greet him, trotting eagerly into the room a few seconds after he swings the door closed behind him and lets Clyde off his leash. 

"Aaron! There you are! I was worried I was going to miss you, I've got to leave soon, and I don't want to be late, do I, wouldn't make much of an impression if I was." He laughs one of his awkward little laughs as Chas pipes up from elsewhere in the house.

"You better not have been to the police station, you," she snaps, the thump of her angry footsteps telling him she's on her way to lay into him some more. 

"Oh, cheers, Patrick," Aaron snaps, sending an offended glare his way and scowling deeper when Paddy just forces out another, even more strained, laugh.

"I'm sorry, Aaron, but I-"

"You know that's not how we do things, Aaron!" Chas interrupts Paddy's weak attempt at explanation. "We're Dingles, and we take care of things _ourselves_ , we don't drag the police in to do our dirty work!" 

"Well none of you were doing aught about it, were you, other than going off at me!" Aaron snaps back, both of them ignoring Paddy's flustered attempts to calm them down. "And anyway, I didn't fucking talk to them, alright? If I had, you'd know about it, because they'd've already hauled John off in handcuffs for what he did to me!"

"You tried to burn his barn down, Aaron! They'd have you sat there in handcuffs an' all!"

"I was putting it out! It wasn't going to hurt anyone! Not like what John did to me, and he'd've left me in there all day, if he could've, what's anybody going to do about that, ay?"

"If someone does something to you, then you _come to us_ , Aaron, you don't go ratting them out to the police! That's not how we do things!"

"I don't care how you do things!  _I'm not a Dingle_! I'm a _Livesy!_ " He storms off up the stairs, anger and shame reignited and making him shake, and he can hear Paddy's soft reproachful voice and his mum's angry one and he just doesn't care, they can all go to hell, he just wants to curl up in bed and do everyone a favour and never wake up. The name he's aligned with burns his throat just like it always does, clinging to him like a dirty stain, but it's true. It's always been true. It's why she left. It's why he stayed. It's why his dad kept him around even though he could never keep the wrongness inside him bottled up enough to keep that furious, disgusted sneer off his face for long. It's why the Dingle clan never barged in and whisked him away like he used to lie in bed imagining, terrified of the possibility and aching for it in equal measure. 

He sprawls himself across his bed, stretched out on his back so he can glare at the ceiling. He just wants to sleep the rest of this shitty day away, but memories and nightmares are already clawing for purchase, and closing his eyes would just give them easier access. He doesn't want to do anything, though; everything he can think of feels like too much work, too unimportant and bland to bother focusing on. So he just lies there, mouth set in a hard line and fidgeting, the familiar rub of his thumb against his knuckle soothing even as it's not particularly interesting. 

He doesn't have long to do it, though, before there's a gentle knock on his door.

"Aaron? Can I come in?" 

_No_ , Aaron wants to snap. He's done - with today, with talking, with other people, all of it. But Paddy sounds so soft and conciliatory that telling him to fuck off would feel like the emotional equivalent of kicking a puppy, so he heaves a long-suffering sigh and instead yells out for Paddy to let himself in. 

The door creaks open cautiously, as if Paddy was worried Aaron were just waiting for an opportunity to chuck a lamp at his head, but he eventually ekes out enough courage to peek his head through.

"You alright?" He asks, infuriatingly soft and sympathetic, and Aaron rolls his eyes.

"Just peachy," he says, forcing as much sarcastic cheerfulness into his voice as possible and feeling annoyingly put off when Paddy just ventures further into his room, shutting the door gently behind him. 

"She does care, you know," Paddy says, hovering awkwardly near the door and adjusting his glasses. "She's worried you're going to get yourself into trouble, that's all, and, well, you've not exactly given her much reason not to think that, have you?"

"Cheers for the pep talk, Padders, you can go now," Aaron says, wondering why he thought this would be anything other than a weasely attempt to stay on his mum's good side. There's only one reason Paddy even gives Aaron the time of day, and it's not for Aaron's sake, that's for sure. 

"No, I- I know you've had a tough day, alright, and I know your mum can have a bit of a temper-" he at least has the decency to look away from Aaron's disdainful scowl at that under-exaggeration "-b-but I'm not having you sitting up here thinking nobody cares, alright? We- we all know, I know even you know, that starting that fire was a bad idea-"

" _Cheers_ , Paddy, _you can go now_ ," Aaron says, bristling at yet another lecture, but Paddy shows a rare display of backbone and keeps going, anyway.

" _But_ ," he continues, "we also know that you're just a kid, and you didn't mean any real harm, and- and John should never have hit you or, or locked you up. That's not- he's an adult, a-a-and he should have acted like one, and he's got plenty of people telling him that, trust me, okay? Moira had already taken him to task, when I got back there."

"You went back?" Aaron asks, startled despite himself. "What, to make sure they know you only bother with me to keep my mum on side?"

" _No_ , Aaron, of course not!" Paddy yelps, sounding convincingly dismayed at the idea. "I went to... smooth things over, I suppose. And to make sure nothing like that happens again. I know you don't think anyone cares, Aaron, but they do. And- I'll leave you alone after this, I promise, but- I know you worry about your place in the Dingles, sometimes- ' _I'm not a Dingle,_ ' I know," he mimics in an annoying tone of voice that nevertheless manages to shut Aaron up, "but, you know, I ran into Zak on the way there, and, well, not to toot my own horn, but I reckon I saved him the trouble of an assault charge an' all."

"How d'you mean?" Aaron asks warily.

"I mean, once I'd told him what happened, he was ready to march up there and throttle John himself, is what I mean," Paddy says, looking hopeful at Aaron's response. "I know you think everyone is out to get you, Aaron, but you really do have people on your side. I just hope you know that." 

"Yeah, alright," Aaron manages, biting down on the inside of his lip to force back the smile trying to pull at his mouth. "You done?"

"Yeah, I'm done," Paddy says, before completely contradicting himself. "I just want you to know that you're not alone in anything, and you've got people you can talk to, including me."

" _Alright,_ Paddy, get out of here before you miss out on learning about shagging sheep or whatever it is you're doing for a week," Aaron says, rolling away from him and forcing a scowl. "And don't think this means I think you going away is a good idea, mind, because it's stupid and Carl is gonna be up to his old tricks the second your car pulls out of the driveway."

"I trust your mum, Aaron," Paddy replies calmly. "You should, too. I'll see you in a week, alright? Try not to go causing any trouble while I'm gone."

"No promises," Aaron replies, the reminder of Carl helping contain the stupid, useless smile trying to breaking through. 

" _Bye_ , Aaron," Paddy says, and the door clicks open, then clicks closed, and he's alone again.

He doesn't know what he feels. He's bought violent punishment upon himself once again, he's completely failed to defend himself once again, he's managed to piss off someone he should have been getting on the good side of once again. He's got memories he thought he'd far left behind scratching at his consciousness and promising months of sleepless nights. 

Despite it all, it is nice, though. Having someone on his side for once. He knows it's temporary and tenuous, knows that Carl is going to trash this relationship and send him out onto the curb along with his mum - but still. For tonight, it might be enough to keep the monsters at bay.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note: I'm aware that my updating schedule is atrocious in general, but for this fic especially, I wouldn't expect frequent updates. Work on this fic will be heavily dependent on my headspace, for what I hope are obvious reasons


End file.
